


The Queen Anne

by Leryline



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC4, F/F, F/M, Multi, Pirates, Queen Anne - Freeform, Toys, assassin's creed 4 - Freeform, ships u.u, teach? thatch?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leryline/pseuds/Leryline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your ship gets taken by pirates, but it just happens that they’re not quite so frightening as they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen Anne

**Author's Note:**

> I just decided to have some fun after finishing AC4 and this was the result... Thatch and Mary were two of my favourite characters, and I'd never written a reader fic before, so I thought it might be fun. I probably haven't written either of them very well, sorry 'bout that.

Your ship is surrounded. Vessels bob up and down on the waves about you, full of cheering men with upraised blades that glint in the sun. Two ships, perhaps three, block any chance your galleon has of escape… not that the crew had any heart left to try.

Pirates, the lot of them: on the uproll you see a myriad of black flags adorned with skulls fluttering from masts and rigging, cementing any doubt you previously had. Your heart sinks, but what really fills you with dread is the knowledge that you hadn’t time enough to disguise yourself as a man, and still wore the sturdy dress you had donned that morning, the wide brim of your hat fluttering in the breeze. Stationed in the back quarters of the deck, up on the helm, you try your best to stay out of sight. The French galleon you boarded had been overtaken fast by bitter brigands, despite being heavy and larger than the brig currently docked beside it. Peering over the gunwale, you notice with a distracted interest that its hull is plated with some sort of alloy – it’s magnificently armoured, with more guns than you would have thought possible to be housed on a brig –

“You, there!” The voices attract your attention, breaking your reverie and causing your heart to be seized by a new fear. Gruff male voices and loud, confident footsteps erupt from the deck below the helm, and you daren’t sidle over to peer through the polished banisters to see what’s going on. “Do you speak English? _Anglais_?” the thick accent sounded disgusted when a quavering reply was made, followed by the sound of hawking and spitting. “Bloody French.”

A short laugh followed the comment. “Really, Thatch, what’s a man’s roots when he’s got gold?” this voice is more diluted, a gentlemanly tinge lacing it. “This is a merchant ship, not a war ship. Take the cargo and let them go, I say.”

“Nobody cares about your bloody opinion, Kenway,” comes a fiery reply from an unfamiliar voice. “Take it, for fuck’s sake – look at the size of it! Bigger than your little tinny, ain’t it?” an explosion of rancorous laughter shot into the air. “Most of ’em are dead anyways. It’d be a shame to let a ship like this rot away.”

“Shut your trap, Ben. I’d know better than you, especially in these matters. When you grow some balls, then I might listen to you.”

You haul yourself over to a stack of crates secured to the deck, hiding yourself behind them, your back pressed firmly against the wood as you gaze out over the back of the ship. A sudden dread fills your stomach as you begin to hear sharp footsteps ascend the steps to the helm, drawing dangerously close to your hiding place. You press a hand to your lips to stifle your rapid breathing.

An argument has broken out behind you, debating whether or not to take the ship. There are three voices – all men – forever increasing in volume as they fight. But… there’s another person on board who is wandering about the helm, poking and prodding, completely uninterested in the politics going on below. For some reason or another, the sound of their boots seems lighter than the other pirates’ had, but they also seemed sharper. Bile rises in your throat as the footsteps draw even closer, and then stop altogether. For a fleeting moment you are filled with hope.

“Oh, look what we ’ave here, then.” A lean face appears above you, thin lips drawn out in a smirk and dark hair flopping over a wide red bandana. The man – boy, really – speaks low enough to go unnoticed by his bickering companions, and your stomach clenches in gratitude. This pirate is lanky – strangely so – and wiry, and he crouches down before you. Your eyes are fixed upon his face and his bright eyes. To your horror he grins and stands up, turning into the sun. “Oye, lads!” he yells, but the argument does not seem to cease. “I’ve found a lass!”

The air goes dead silent, only the lingering echoes of bellowing men dancing up into the air. From the main deck you hear a quiet murmur of ‘a woman?’ and nothing more.

The silence is broken by uneven footsteps traipsing up the steps. The young man above you leans against the crates, looking quite pleased with himself. Brisk sets of feet quickly follow suit, and soon three more curious faces peer down at you.

“I’ll take her,” a man with dark hair and a navy overcoat says suddenly. He is tall and rather handsome in a rebellious privateer sort of way, his voice low and silky smooth despite its accent. The blond man beside him shoots him a disparaging glance.

“She certainly won’t be going with you, that’s for certain,” he snaps, and the dark-haired man scowls at him. “She probably has better things to do than play pantsy with you.” His comment earns a snigger from bystanders. The third man, chin hidden by an enormous, bushy beard, scratches his neck thoughtfully.

“What about me?” he asks in a voice that sounds gruffer than the rest. “She could come with me.”

“Aye,” the young man adds. “I’d wager she’d feel more comfortable with me than the likes of you lot.” His remark earns a few unsure murmurs from the other men.

“What makes you say that, Kidd?” asks the dark-haired man – Ben, wasn’t it? –, his voice harbouring more than a little animosity and a slight hurt. The man with the red bandana casts him a sidewards glance, letting it slide.

“You get the ship, we get the crew,” the bearded man with fiery eyes reasons in a booming voice. “We need extra men after your bloody little showup in Nassau.”

“Kenway?”

“I need neither.”

Ben looks towards the broad bearded man. “All right, then. I can strike that deal.” He promptly turns and barks some orders, his words followed by a loud commotion as things are set into action. The men drift away reluctantly, only lecherous gazes lingering behind where they once stood. Soon only you and the initial young man are left behind, and he crouches down once more and reaches out to pluck your hand from your mouth… you hadn’t even realised your palm was crushed against your lips. He offers you a crooked little smile – which you find horrifyingly attractive – before standing and moving off.

An hour later has you on your feet, standing on the edge of the galleon at the lip of a boarding plank stretched between this ship and the next. Your eyes are glued to the roiling waves beneath the alarmingly thin piece of wood, your feet glued to the gunwales.

Suddenly you are shoved forward, and you shriek in fright before strong hands grip your waist and pull you backwards against the hard line of a body.

“Only joking,” comes the whisper in your ear, followed by a louder “Let’s get a move on, then!” from the bandana-yielding youth who begins to escort you firmly across the plank. The whisper still remains like a kiss against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, the strong grip on your elbow acting as a catalyst to the feeling. From the deck of another ship you can see the other captains looking at you intently, Ben’s expression full of reluctance and the blond man’s face full of concern. You know exactly what he’s thinking: ‘she could be married. What about her husband? I oughtn’t let a lady perish.’ He is questioning his choice and your destination, but evidently thinks it satisfactory, as he turns and disappears.

The man o’ war looms above you like an expertly crafted island, its rolls stifled by its sheer size. The youth at your elbow is quick to escort you across the deck and away from the lascivious gazes and mocking cheer of the sailors. The youth looks up to the helm before calling, “Sorry, Thatch, but the lady’s taking up residence in the captain’s cabin.”

A booming laugh is the reply. “I’ve weathered worse, Kidd! But if ye break anything, I’ll skin y’alive, you hear?” Kidd nods placidly and opens the door to what you guess if the captain’s cabin of the ship. It smells of stale tobacco and sweat and salt, and not a single surface is clean of maps and empty bottles of rum and pistols or blades. Kidd haphazardly kicks away a pile of old swords and musket balls that rattle as they roll in their pouch to make a path past the navigation table. The hand leaves your elbow and you peer curiously at the maps – they’re crudely drawn, but accurate. The fear in your stomach settles a little at the sight of it. The pirate beside you notices and smiles thinly.

“You know maps?”

You jerk, startled. “Yes, well, I’m no cartographer, but –,” Kidd’s sudden look of surprise quells your nervous babble, and you stop dead.

“You… you speak English?” Kidd asks, and you nod slowly. “By God, we all thought you were French! We thought you couldn’t understand a word we were saying; you must think us all right louts!” he begins to laugh, and you mutter a small ‘not at all’ that goes unheard. Kidd claps you on the shoulder and the feel of his sharp fingers makes you wince. He leaves you too suddenly.

You look about the empty room. The room is large, but is made smaller by the amount of stuff lining the walls. A bed is tucked into a corner, portioned off from the rest of the room, and a hammock (obviously the captain’s chosen form of bedding) swings to and fro in the gentle rocking motion of the ship. You are unsure what to do – your clothes were meant for show, as you were to dock in Havana that evening, and the corset constricts you. After the show with the pirates you could certainly use some air.

Reaching down you unlace your dress, sliding it off and folding it neatly over the back of a chair. Owing to your shaking hands, the process takes longer than usual. The sun is setting outside, the ship moving leisurely over the waves away from your destination, casting a ruddy golden glow that is slowly fading to a cool lilac blush. Now in your underdress, you savour the cool air on your skin. You reach around to the back of your waist, fumbling to find the laces. Prior to this you had always had somebody to help you, and now you’re finding it difficult to manage.

Quite suddenly you feel a strong tug at your waist and the first blossom of relief at the base of your spine. Startled half out of your wits you try to turn, but are held in place by a firm grip. Turning your head you see Kidd’s sparkling eyes and complacent expression.

“Let me help you. I’d wager you could probably use a bit of freedom.” With that he leans forward, dextrous fingers running up and down your spine. His breath is warm against the bare ridge of your shoulder and the feeling of release spreads tantalisingly slowly up your abdomen as he picks each lace, slower and slower as his fingers play up your back. He draws out the strings, never properly touching you, tugging and pulling and eliciting short breaths and long sighs from your lips.

All of a sudden he stops, your chest still constricted, and rounds to stand before you. His high cheekbones glisten, his scars winking in the dim light of the candles that pierce the darkness. His gaze is fastened to the top border of your corset where your breasts have been elevated and accentuated. His eyes unnerve you, but they excite you all the same. His fingers walk up the front of your corset, smoothing over the soft mounds of flesh. With unbearable slowness he dips his head, running the pad of his tongue over the crease between your breasts. The appendage dips in, wet and stimulating, and you tip your head back and groan, supporting yourself on the table behind you. His eyes holding yours, Kidd straightens up and places his fingers at your lips. You obediently take them into your mouth, sucking at them as best you can, running your tongue between them and grazing them with your teeth. Kidd trails his wet fingers down over your chin and your neck before thrusting them into the crease of your breasts.

His body is pressed flush against your, gyrating slightly, his knee thrust up into your skirts between your thighs. Suddenly he grabs the front of your corset with both hands and jerks it open, and your entire body breathes in with the sudden freedom. Your breasts are free, your nipples unbelievably hard beneath the material of your chemise. The sudden heat Kidd has aroused in you is dissolved into a searing kiss. He presses his lips to yours, taking you by the waist and lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his waist – you need this. His hands play at your hips, and you groan at the clothes you both still wear. With searing eyes Kidd helps you out of the rest of your garments until you sit fully naked before him; his eyes drink in every inch of your skin, and the exposure makes your whole body tingle. You press together in a heated mash of lips once more before Kidd grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back to stop it and you whine with disappointment.

His eyes are solemn as he takes your hand, placing it at his belt. With a sudden slowness you unbuckle his belts and untie his sashes, removing all obstructions before fingering the waistband of his breeches; his eyes prompt you, and he takes your other hand and escorts it up underneath his shirt. You’re confused – why is he doing this? You notice that his stomach is flat and much more feminine than most men. The sudden revelation happens instantaneously.

Below you, your first hand comes into contact with coarse pubic hair. Excitement shoots through your body, but it is soon replaced by disappointment as you find nothing: he’s either completely flaccid or very, very small. Confusion follows as your hand continues to curve down, and then around – and at that very moment your other hand comes into contact with a breast. _A breast_. You keep Kidd’s eyes, removing your hand from his breeches to slip up under his shirt. In one fluid move you remove his coat and his linen shirt, bearing a tattooed chest with two firm breasts. You can’t believe it. Kidd is… Kidd is a woman.

Kidd waits for your reaction, counting the seconds like a countdown to a hanging. You glance up from her chest to her face, your hands sliding up into her hair as you make to kiss her once more. Lashes fan your cheeks and you can feel the gratitude practically rolling off the pirate’s shoulders. When you had boarded this ship you hadn’t expected to be advanced upon by a pirate (though it didn’t surprise you), let alone a _female_ pirate. Though, you suppose, there were probably many female pirates disguised as men, but you’d never gotten close enough to one – certainly not _this_ close – to tell.

Soon all ability to think leaves you as Kidd moves to kiss along the line of your neck, her hands sharp against your hips. The material of her breeches rubs against the insides of your thighs, an agonising barrier creating delicious friction. Arousal shoots deep through you, clenching your intestines in its fiery grip. Bucking your hips, you struggle to get the message through while your lips are engaged with the pirate’s.

Kidd breaks away, looking you dead in the eye. Her lips are dark from kisses, her cheeks flushed. The red bandana has slipped low over her brow, and you reach up to tug it off, letting her dark hair fall free from its hold. God, what a beautiful creature! In her own masculine, gruff kind of way, Kidd has an undeniably alluring charm that sent your stomach turning.

The only thing you hear is the thump against the wood as Kidd’s knees hit the floor, and she takes your calf into her hands and kisses the inside of your knee. Her lips slowly creep upwards, pressing against the soft skin of your thighs. Her lips move tantalisingly slowly, and as you look down you see her eyes watching you intently; you reach down to run trembling hands through her dark hair, longing for her to _hurry up_ and give you attention where you really needed it. Her teeth gazed the inside of your upper thigh, prompting you to groan loudly, thrusting your hips. You almost scream in frustration as Kidd merely blows over your groin before kissing the skin of your hip.

“K-Kidd,” you gasp. “Christ, please!”

She pauses at her name, her eyes flicking up to yours before she dips down and kisses your most intimate area. You tip your head back, only to feel a hand on both your knees, forcing them wider as Kidd leans back and lets in a breath of cold air that makes your muscles tense. Her gaze is scrutinising, watching you so crudely exposed… but it excites you. It makes your body tingle, and the slow feline smile that spreads across her face only enunciates the effect.

You whine again, mewling and complaining until Kidd leans forward and plunges her tongue deep within your folds. You cry out in delight, the knot in your abdomen tightening as her teeth graze over your engorged clit, tongue flicking up under the hood. Even without looking at her you can tell she is a woman: her lips are softer than any man’s, fuller, though just as chapped by the harsh sea wind. Her fingers dig into your thighs, sending sharp jabs of pain through your legs. Your hips buck as she makes quick work of you, and you feel her pull away just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of bliss.

“No!” you protest in a whining, childish voice. Your legs are trembling in need. Kidd smirks, obviously just wanting to see your reaction, and continues her assault on the apex between your legs. Your mind fills with all sorts of wonderful things as the sensations overcome you, plunging you into an abyss of pleasure the likes of which you have never experienced. If it wasn’t for your clever choice to bite your knuckles you would have screamed to heaven and back. Your hips rise off the table and Kidd begins to suck relentlessly right on the moment of your orgasm, causing white to burst before your eyes.

She draws away, moving up your body to kiss you, and upon her chin you taste your own fluids. The coarse material of her breeches grinds against your oversensitive flesh and you mewl helplessly in response.

“Magnificent,” you breathe as your eyes flutter shut, the hand on your stomach and the lips on your jaw comforting you. Perhaps pirates weren’t so bad after all.

You feel Kidd pull away, moving her fingers swiftly through your folds before going to rummage about in a trunk hidden deep in a cluttered corner. You struggle to sit up and see what she is doing, and you find yourself captivated by the sharp line of her spine as she crouches down.

When she stands your breath catches in your throat; in her hand she holds a curious phallic object with leather straps. What on earth was it?

“A gift from the boys,” Kidd drawls sarcastically, though her eyes are amused at your confusion. “To make up for what I lack.”

She hooks her fingers into her breeches and tugs them down, kicking off her boots. She approaches you again, her dark eyes hungry, and she reaches out to cup her hand between your legs. You sit up to wrap your arms around her neck to kiss her; the feel of cold glass between your bodies shocks you, the glass phallus pressed between your stomachs to bring it to warmth.

Kidd lowers you down onto the table, elevating your legs and reaching down to pry open your folds with the tip of the object. You yearn for something larger than her fingers, and cannot believe your stroke of good fortune. Bucking your hips, Kidd suddenly plunges the phallus deep within you, and you tense around it, moaning. Muscles knot and bunch under Kidd’s skin as she moves the phallus at a faster pace, watching your face all the while. You cover your burning face with your hands before they’re pulled away so Kidd can kiss you. Your hand slips down between them, finding the apex between Kidd’s legs. Though you are less skilled, you have explored your own area many times before and know the basic pleasure points. Kidd falters under your lips, her relentless pace stuttering a little. She takes you by the throat, slamming your body down onto the table and pounding between your legs relentlessly; her fingers cover your mouth to stifle the nose you’re making, and your hips buck up off the table, feeling Kidd’s hot breath against your collarbones.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you cry against her fingers as your whole body quakes with a second thunderous orgasm. Kidd’s fingers tighten around your neck, her nails biting into your skin, sure to leave marks that would be apparent tomorrow. The feeling of her body against yours, the feeling of her domination, washes over you and threatens to drown you.

Light floods into your eyes, impossibly bright, and Kidd stops suddenly just as you feel yourself racing towards a climax. Your body lies prone on the table, chest undulating with gasping breaths.

“Fuckin’ hell, Kidd!” comes a ferocious, gruff voice from the doorway. The bright light suddenly disappeared as the door to the captain’s cabin was shut with a slam. You cast your eyes in that direction, your vision upside-down. The other pirate you had seen – the one with the hat and the big beard and the smoke – is standing before the closed door. You can’t tell if he’s angry or confused, but fear rises in your throat.

Suddenly he bursts out into roaring laughter. “Finally putting it to good use, I see!”

Kidd hesitates, her body tense. “Now’s not the time, Thatch.”

The pirate captain swaggered over to you and Kidd, and as he comes closer you can see the lines of his face, his mouth set in a gruesome snarl. “It’s my ship, Kidd,” he growls, “and you’re fuckin’ on _my_ maps.”

Kidd eyes down Thatch, her gaze steady, the phallus slowly slipping from between your legs. You moan softly, attracting Thatch’s fierce eyes. You stare up at him, gaze faltering, but his confidence and ferocity causes your groin to tingle. Your lips part slightly – his crotch is right before your face as your head hangs over the edge of the table. Above you, Thatch grunts. You feel a shock of rough, calloused fingers against your breasts; the thick fingers knead the heavy flesh and you sigh, arching into his touch. There is no skill in his fingers, but the rawness of his caress was doing a lot to rectify that.

“Want in then, Thatch?” Kidd asks mockingly.

“Shut yer trap, Kidd,” Thatch barked, taking your nipples between his thick fingers and rolling them. You feel unbearably empty with the absence of the phallus, the feeling augmented by the denial of your orgasm.

You can smell Thatch’s musky scent from where he stands over you. He tosses his hat into a corner, the wicks spluttering out. He throws off his outer tunic, his guns and swords clattering on the floor. His dark waistcoat and shirtsleeves are revealed, and you feel one of his hands slide along the soft ling of your throat and cup your chin. His touch is surprisingly gentle upon your face; you get an inkling of uncertainty about him… you amuse yourself with the thought of Kidd making him nervous or – even better – _you_ making him nervous. Surely Thatch – Edward Thatch, as you’d figured out – the infamous Blackbeard, had lain with a woman before. Although the notion that he was married to the sea and focussed only on pirating wasn’t dismissed.

You reach up with your hands to fumble with his belt; it’s difficult doing so upside-down, but you manage to slip the leather from around his waist and deposit it on the floor with a clatter. You thread your fingers through the laces of his breeches – he’s a big man. He isn’t fat – his lifestyle is far too demanding for that –, but his waist is thick and his shoulders broad, his legs muscular and entire stance powerful. You feel him straining against the constriction of his breeches and struggle to free him.

Meanwhile, between your legs, Kidd is prodding and poking with her fingers and her tool, deep enough to cause a smouldering arousal but shallow enough to reign you in from climax. Your mind is filling with haze, and you manage to release Thatch from his breeches with a loud guttural groan on his part.

_My God_ , you think. His cock matches his attitude, it would seem. It rises before your face, already half-hard, proud and rather large.

Without preamble you reach up to grasp it between your hands, guiding it down to your parted lips already wet with desire. You tease the foreskin with your teeth, smearing precum over the head with your tongue before reaching back to slide your hands around Thatch’s thighs to guide him. He places a hand against your chest, bracing himself as he slowly pushed his hips forward, driving his cock into your willing throat. He was met with resistance and pulled back hesitantly; your eyes had begun to water and your body filled with delight – you didn’t want him to stop.

His cock slipped from between your lips, now fully erect, and after swallowing briefly you look up at him.

“Come now, Blackbeard,” you say breathlessly, and Thatch looks down sharply. You adopt a sultry tone, smiling coyly at him. “The most feared pirate of the seas, aren’t you? Men tremble at your name, fables are told about smoke coming from your ears. You do not seem like a fearful creature to my eyes.”

That did it. One hand grabs your face, the other still braced against your chest, and Thatch pushes into your mouth and past the barrier of your throat. He sets a relentless pace, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in again. You are careful to keep your teeth well away from the shaft; the rage you have awoken in him would not bode well should you bite down on the delicate organ in your mouth.

Kidd continues to work her magic between your legs, a slow ache spreading up from your groin.

“All right, Thatch, that’s enough for now.”

Thatch pulls out, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. Back from where you came from men would never treat you like this – to them, you were a delicate flower who needed to be treated like china lest you fracture or break; now you are spread over a desk on a pirate ship with a pirate woman between your legs and the infamous Blackbeard pounding away at your throat… and it’s perfect. On one hand you’re surprised that Thatch listened to Kidd, but the promising twinkle in her eye explained it immediately. “I think I want a go of that mouth.”

Thatch’s rough hands are replaced by Kidd’s thin ones, the milky skin of her thighs swimming before your eyes. A hoarse, throaty chuckle comes from between your legs, your knees forced apart by large hands. The rough pad of a thumb presses infuriatingly against your clit and you try and roll your hips to generate much needed friction, but Thatch doesn’t give in.

“Bit of a coy slut, isn’t she?” Thatch asked gruffly as he inspects your intimate area. Kidd laughs from above you as she climbs onto the table on her knees. Your hands go to her thighs, pulling her down over your lips. You need to taste her.

Kidd lowers herself, and your tongue comes into contact with her sweet folds. Her clit is engorged under your lips, and she emits a throaty growl as your tongue begins to work.

You feel Thatch tease you open, pushing in shallowly before pulling out, and then plunging in all in one thrust.

The stretch is magnificent. You moan loudly, the noise stifled against Kidd’s pussy. He begins to work furiously between your legs, rectifying whatever lack of skill with a ferocious passion. His hips were like pistons, his thrusts rocking the entire table. His coarse pubic hair grinds against your sensitive skin, his hipbones colliding with your thighs.

You’re getting close – you scream against Kidd, and she grabs a fistful of your hair and grinds into your face as she shudders with orgasm. “Fuck,” she groans, tipping her head back.

A sudden orgasm tears through your body, and you writhe against Thatch, your muscles clenching and your pussy twitching spasmodically. Thatch lets out a thunderous bellow, stilling and coming, his strong hands crushing your thighs. He pulls out soon after and you feel his cum smear across your thighs.

You lie prone, breathing hard, blissfully happy and sated. Vaguely, you hear the thump of Kidd’s feet hitting the floor as she jumps off the table. You find yourself lifted and held against a hard, broad chest, the slight sway giving away the fact that your carrier had begun to walk.

You find yourself deposited on a bed – soft and seldom slept in, the sheets are clean if not a little stale. But… perhaps a good amount of use would soften them up.


End file.
